“Mommy, why are you crying?”Damn it.  Busted.I wiped my eyes and smiled at my kiddo.  “I’m okay— I’m just sad because a magazine didn’t want to publish something I’d written.”She crawled into my lap, long legs and elbows and all, and gave me a hug.  She’s pretty great like that.

I felt a little sheepish that I’d bawled so dramatically about something that happens so often.  But whenever I can, I just let myself cry now.  I’ve learned over the years that when I let my emotions move through me, they move through quickly and cleanly.  It’s only when I push them away that they get stuck and toxic and murky.

So when I got the (18,000th) rejection notice for a piece that I believe in, I let myself put my head on my knees and weep a little weep.  Actually, if I’m being honest, it was less dignified than that.  I howled a very quiet howl.  It felt good.  Cleansing.  Cathartic.  And that was exactly when Ms. Adventure walked in.

Now listen, loves.  If I’m going to be a writer, rejection is part of the deal.  I absolutely know that.  I’ve read Cheryl Strayed’s fantastic essay about all her rejection slips.  I’ve read the one about writing like a motherfucker too.  I’ve read Elizabeth Gilbert’s piece on how crazy it is to complain about writing because writing is such a privilege.  Those are good and wise things to remember, and I’m so grateful to both of those writers for writing so movingly about their journeys.

But guys.  Rejection still STINGS.  Like a motherfucker, in fact.

That’s true whether you’re facing rejection from a boss, or a lover, or a potential client.  It is never fun to have someone say “no” to something you’ve put your heart and soul into.

So if you’ve gotten some hard feedback, or a “no thanks,” or a “this sucks,” and you’re BUMMED, I feel you.

But here’s the important thing.  Feeling bummed has nothing to do with our ability to persevere. It doesn’t mean that we are wimps or too sensitive or self-indulgent.  It just means that things matter to us, and we are People Of Big Feeling.  And sometimes our big feelings need to come out of our eyes.

I think sometimes we’re afraid that if we let ourselves feel the full flood of our feelings, we won’t be able to carry on.  We think that being brave means being stoic.  We think that being strong means we have to tough it out and not let things “get” to us.

I think being brave is when you’re scared shitless, and your heart gets broken, and you’re sobbing down on your knees, and you KEEP GOING ANYWAY.

My definition of an EFBA (epic fucking badass) is someone who tells the truth and refuses to quit.

So I explained all this to my girl that day, only using fewer words.

I told her that I was sad, but that being sad wasn’t going to stop me from keeping going with my writing.

She nodded, then ran off to play.

An hour later, she brought me this.